Class _rpS P^O-^^ 
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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
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 "l\ SMALL AMPHITHEATRE SURROUNDED BY PERPENDICULAR PRECIPICES, 
 
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 CJosebK r\night CompcM\y. 
 
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 Copyright by 
 Samuel E. Cassino, 
 
 Copyright by 
 
 Joseph Knight Company, 
 
 1894. 
 
 Norinooti 53rf0s : 
 
 J. S. Gushing & Co. — Berwick & Smith. 
 
 Boston, Mass., U.S.A. 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Portrait 4 
 
 Illustrated Title-Page 5 , 
 
 List of Illustrations . 7 
 
 Diedrich Knickerbocker = . <, 9 
 
 Up the Hudson . . . 11 
 
 "He was a descendant of the Van Winkles" . . . . . 12 
 
 " He assisted at their sports " . . . . . . , facing 1 2 
 
 "A termagant wife" . . . . , . . . . . 13 
 
 "Fish all day without a murmur" . . . . . . . • 14 
 
 "Used to employ him to run their errands" . . . . . 15 
 
 "He would carry a fowling-piece" . . . . . . . • 17 
 
 "His cow among the cabbages" . 18 
 
 "Trooping like a colt at its mother's heels" . . . . . .18 
 
 "How solemnly they would listen" ...... facing 18 
 
 "He shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, and cast up his eyes" . 19 
 
 " Yelping precipitation " ......... 20 
 
 " He would share the contents of his wallet " . . . . facing 20 
 
 Nicholas Vedder . 21 
 
 "The brow of a precipice" 23 
 
 " He heard a voice ".......... 26 
 
 "A strange figure" . . . . 27 
 
 " Rip and his companion labored on in silence " . . . ,. . 29 
 
8 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 " A company of odd-looking personages " . . . . facing 26 
 
 "One who seemed to be the commander" 30 
 
 " They quaffed the liquor in profound silence "... facing 30 
 
 "I have not slept here all night" . . . . . . . 31 
 
 "Wanting in his usual activity" . . . . . . . -32 
 
 "He called again and whistled after his dog" .... lacing 32 
 
 " Stroked their chins " TyZ 
 
 " A troop of strange children ran at his heels " . . . . facing 34 
 " He found the house gone to decay " . . . . . . -35 
 
 "He recognized on the sign" 37 
 
 " They crowded round him " facing 38 
 
 "A lean, bilious-looking fellow" . . . . . . '. . 39 
 
 "He was killed at the storming of Stony Point" . . . . - 41 
 
 "A great militia-general" . . . . , . . . 42 
 
 "That is Rip Van Winkle, yonder" . . . . . . 43 
 
 " A fresh, comely woman " . . . . . . . . . 44 
 
 "What is your name, my good woman?" .... facing 44 
 
 Peter Vanderdonk ..... . • . . . 45 
 
 " Friends among the rising generation " , .46 
 
 "Once more on the bench at the inn door" .... facing 46 
 
 " He used to tell his story to every stranger " 48 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 A POSTHUMOUS WRITING OF DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER. 
 
 oi«<c 
 
 By Woden, God of Saxons, 
 
 From whence comes Wensday, that is VVodensday. 
 
 Truth is a thing that ever I will keep 
 
 Unto thylke day in which I creep into 
 
 My sepulchre Cartwright. 
 
 [The following Tale was found among the papers of the late Diedrich 
 Knickerbocker, an old gentleman of New York, who was very curious in the 
 
 Dutch history of the province, and the manners of the descendants from its 
 primitive settlers. His historical researches, however, did not lie so much 
 
JO RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 . among books as among men ; for the former are lamentably scanty on his 
 favorite topics ; whereas he found the old burghers, and still more their wives, 
 rich in that legendary lore so invaluable to true history. Whenever, therefore, 
 he happened upon a genuine Dutch family, snugly shut up in its low-roofed 
 farmhouse, under a spreading sycamore, he looked upon it as a little clasped 
 volume of black-letter, and studied it with the zeal of a book-worm. 
 
 The result of all these researches was a history of the province during the 
 reign of the Dutch governors, which he published some years since. There have 
 been various opinions as to the literary character of his work, and, to tell the 
 truth, it is not a whit better than it should be. Its chief merit is its scrupulous 
 accuracy, which indeed was a little questioned on its first appearance, but has 
 since been completely established ; and it is now admitted into all historical 
 collections as a book of unquestionable authority. 
 
 The old gentleman died shortly after the pubhcation of his work ; and now 
 that he is dead and gone, it cannot do much harm to his memory to say that his 
 time might have been much better employed in weightier labors. He, however, 
 was apt to ride his hobby his own way ; and though it did now and then kick up 
 the dust a little in the eyes of his neighbors, and grieve the spirit of some friends, 
 for whom he felt the truest deference and affection, yet his errors and follies are 
 remembered " more in sorrow than in anger," and it begins to be suspected that 
 he never intended to injure or offend. But however his memory may be appre- 
 ciated by critics, it is still held dear by many folk whose good opinion is well 
 worth having ; particularly by certain biscuit-bakers, who have gone so far as to 
 imprint his likeness on their New- Year cakes ; and have thus given him a chance 
 for immortality, almost equal to the being stamped on a Waterloo Medal, or a 
 Queen Anne's Farthing.l 
 
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 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 At the foot of these fairy mountains, the voyager may 
 have descried the hght smoke curhng up from a village, 
 whose shingle roofs gleam among the trees, just where the 
 blue tints of the upland melt away into the fresh green of 
 the nearer landscape. It is a little village of great antiquity, 
 
 having been founded by some 
 
 j^ "^ ____ of the Dutch colonists in, the 
 
 ^. "" ^ early times of the province, just 
 
 about the beginning of the gov- 
 ernment of the good Peter Stuy- 
 vesant (may he rest in peace !) 
 and there were some of the 
 houses of the original settlers 
 standing within a few years, 
 built of small yellow bricks 
 brought from Holland, having 
 latticed windows and gable 
 fronts, surmounted with weath- 
 ercocks. 
 
 In that same village, and in 
 one of these very houses (which, 
 to tell the precise truth, was 
 sadly time-worn and weather- 
 beaten), there lived many years 
 since, while the country was yet 
 a province of Great Britain, a simple, good-natured fellow, of 
 the name of Rip Van Winkle. He was a descendant of the 
 Van Winkles who figured so gallantly in the chivalrous days 
 of Peter Stuyvesant, and accompanied him to the siege of 
 Fort Christina. He inherited, however, but little of the martial 
 
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RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 13 
 
 character of his ancestors. I have observed that he was a 
 simple, good-natured man ; he was, moreover, a kind neighbor, 
 and an obedient, hen-pecked husband. Indeed, to the latter 
 circumstance might be owing that meekness of spirit which 
 gained him such universal popu- 
 larity ; for those men are most apt 
 to be obsequious and conciliating 
 abroad who are under the disci- 
 pline of shrews at home. Their tem- 
 pers, doubtless, are rendered pliant 
 and malleable in the fiery furnace 
 of domestic tribulation, and a cur- 
 tain-lecture is worth all the ser- 
 mons in the world for teaching the 
 virtues of patience and long-suffer- 
 ing. A termagant wife may, there- 
 fore, in some respects, be consid- 
 ered a tolerable blessing ; and if 
 so, Rip Van Winkle was thrice 
 blessed. 
 
 Certain it is, that he was a great 
 favorite among all the good wives 
 of the village, who, as usual with 
 the amiable sex, took his part in 
 all family squabbles, and never 
 
 failed, whenever they talked those matters over in their evening 
 gossipings, to lay all the blame on Dame Van Winkle. The 
 children of the village, too, would shout with joy whenever 
 he approached. He assisted at their sports, made their play- 
 things, taught them to fly kites and shoot marbles, and told 
 
14 
 
 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 them long stories of ghosts, witches, and Indians. Whenever 
 he went dodging about the village, he was surrounded by a 
 troop of them, hanging on his skirts, clambering on his back, 
 and playing a thousand tricks on him with impunity; and not 
 
 a dog would bark at him through- 
 out the neighborhood. 
 
 The great error in Rip's 
 composition was an insuper- 
 able aversion to all kinds of 
 profitable labor. It could 
 not be from the want of 
 assiduity or perseverance ; 
 for he would sit on a wet 
 rock, with a rod as long 
 and heavy as a Tartar's 
 lance, and fish all day 
 without a murmur, even 
 though he should not be 
 encouraged by a single nibble. 
 He would carry a fowling-piece on 
 his shoulder for hours together, trudging 
 through woods and swamps, and up hill 
 and down dale, to shoot a few squirrels or 
 wild pigeons. He would never refuse to 
 assist a neighbor even in the roughest 
 toil, and was a foremost man at all country frolics for husking 
 Indian corn, or building stone fences ; the women of the vil- 
 lage, too, used to employ him to run their errands, and to do 
 such little odd jobs as their less obliging husbands would not 
 do for them. In a word, Rip was ready to attend to anybody's 
 
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RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 17 
 
 business but his own ; but as to doing family duty, 
 and keeping his farm in order, he found it impossible. 
 
 In fact, he declared it was of no use to work on 
 his farm ; it was the most pestilent little piece of 
 ground in the whole country ; everything about it went 
 wrong, and would go wrong in spite of him. His fences 
 
 were continually falling to ^ - - - - / 
 
 pieces ; his cow would either 
 go astray, or get among the 
 cabbages ; weeds were sure 
 to grow quicker in his fields 
 than anywhere else ; the rain 
 always made a point of set- 
 ting in just as he had some 
 out-door work to do ; so that 
 though his patrimonial estate 
 had dwindled away under his 
 management, acre by acre, un- 
 til there was little more left 
 than a mere patch of Indian 
 corn and potatoes, yet it was 
 the worst conditioned farm in 
 the neighborhood. 
 
 His children, too, were as 
 ragged and wild as if they 
 belonged to nobody. His son 
 Rip, an urchin begotten in 
 
 his own likeness, promised to inherit the habits, with the old 
 clothes of his father. He was generally seen trooping like a 
 colt at his mother's heels, equipped in a pair of his father's 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 ^^^ 
 
 cast-off galligaskins, which he had 
 much ado to hold up with one 
 hand, as a fine lady does her 
 train in bad weather. 
 
 Rip Van Winkle, however, was 
 one of those happy mortals, of 
 foolish, well-oiled dispositions, who 
 take the world easy, eat white 
 bread or brown, whichever can be 
 got with least thought or trouble, 
 and would rather starve on a 
 penny than work for a pound. 
 If left to himself, he would have 
 whistled life away, in perfect con- 
 tentment ; but his wife kept continually dinning in his ears 
 about his idleness, his carelessness, and the ruin 
 he was bringing on his family. 
 
 Morning, noon, and night, her tongue was in- V 
 cessantly going, and ev- 
 erything he said or did 
 was sure to produce a 
 torrent of household elo- 
 quence. Rip had but one 
 w^ay of replying to all lec- 
 tures of the kind, and 
 that, by frequent use, had 
 grown into a habit. He 
 shrugged his shoulders, 
 shook his head, cast up his eyes, but said nothing This, 
 however, always provoked a fresh volley from his wife, so that 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 19 
 
 he was fain to draw off his forces, and take to the outside 
 of the house — the only side which, in truth, belongs to a hen- 
 pecked husband. 
 
 Rip's sole domestic adherent was his dog Wolf, who was 
 as much henpecked as his master ; for Dame Van Winkle 
 regarded them as companions in idleness, and even looked 
 upon Wolf with an evil eye, as the cause 
 of his master's going so often astray. True 
 it is, in all points of spirit befitting an hon- 
 orable dog, he was as courageous an animal 
 as ever scoured the woods — but what cour- 
 age can withstand the ever-during and all- 
 besetting terrors of a woman's tongue 1 The 
 moment Wolf entered the house, his crest 
 fell, his tail drooped to the ground, or curled 
 between his legs, he sneaked about with a 
 gallows air, casting many a sidelong glance 
 at Dame Van Winkle, and at the least 
 flourish of a broomstick or ladle, he would 
 fly to the door with yelping precipitation. 
 
 Times grew worse and worse with Rip 
 Van Winkle as years of matrimony rolled on : 
 a tart temper never mellows with age, and a 
 sharp tongue is the only edge tool that grows 
 keener with constant use. For a lono^ while he used to con- 
 sole himself, when driven from home, by frequenting a kind 
 of perpetual club of the sages, philosophers,- and other idle 
 personages of the village, which held its sessions on a bench 
 before a small inn, designated by a rubicund portrait of his 
 majesty George the Third. Here they used to sit in the 
 
20 
 
 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 shade of a long lazy summer's day, talking listlessly over vil- 
 lage gossip, or telling endless sleepy stories about nothing. 
 But it would have been worth any statesman's money to have 
 heard the profound discussions which sometimes took place, 
 when by chance an old newspaper fell into their hands, from 
 some passing traveller. How solemnly they would listen to 
 the contents, as drawled out by Derrick Van Bummel, the 
 schoolmaster, a dapper learned little man, who was not to be 
 daunted by the most gigantic word in the dictionary ; and how 
 sagely they would deliberate upon public events some months 
 after they had taken place. 
 
 The opinions of this junto were completely controlled 
 by Nicholas Vedder, a patriarch of the village, and land- 
 lord of the inn, at the door of which he took 
 his seat from morning till night, just moving 
 sufficiently to avoid the sun, and keep in 
 the shade of a large tree ; so that the 
 nei2:hbors could tell the hour 
 by his movements, as accu- 
 rately as by a sun-dial. It 
 true, he was rarely heard 
 speak, but smoked his pipe 
 incessantly. His ad- 
 herents, however (for 
 every great man has 
 his adherents), perfect- 
 ly understood him, and 
 knew how to gather 
 his opinions. When 
 anything that was read 
 
PE WaUl^B STROLL A^WAY JNTD JHE iVODDS. 
 
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RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 21 
 
 or related displeased him, he was observed to smoke his pipe 
 vehemently, and to send forth short, frequent, and angry puffs ; 
 but when pleased, he would inhale the smoke slowly and tran- 
 quilly, and emit it in light and placid clouds, and sometimes 
 taking the pipe from his mouth, and letting the fragrant 
 vapor curl about his nose, would gravely nod his head in 
 token of perfect approbation. 
 
 From even this strong- v' .: 
 
 hold the unlucky Rip was 
 at length routed by his ter- 
 magant wife, who would 
 suddenly break in upon the 
 tranquillity of the assem- 
 blage, and call the members 
 all to nought ; nor was that 
 august personage, Nicholas 
 Vedder himself, sacred from 
 the daring tongue of this 
 terrible viraoo, who charoed 
 him outright with encourag- ^-^ 
 
 ing her husband in habits of idleness. 
 
 Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to despair, and his 
 only alternative to escape from the labor of the farm and the 
 clamor of his wife, was to take gun in hand, and stroll away 
 into the woods. Here he would sometimes seat himself at 
 the foot of a tree, and share the contents of his wallet with 
 Wolf, with whom he sympathized as a fellow-sufferer in perse- 
 cution. " Poor Wolf," he would say, " thy mistress leads thee 
 a dog's life of it ; but never mind, my lad, whilst I live thou 
 shalt never want a friend to stand by thee ! " Wolf would 
 
2 2 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 wag his tail, look wistfully in his master's face, and if dogs 
 can feel pity, I verily believe he reciprocated the sentiment 
 with all his heart. 
 
 In a long ramble of the kind, on a fine autumnal day. Rip 
 had unconsciously scrambled to one of the highest parts of 
 the Kaatskill mountains. He was after his favorite sport of 
 squirrel-shooting, and the still solitudes had echoed and re- 
 echoed with the reports of his gun. Panting and fatigued, he 
 threw himself, late in the afternoon, on a green knoll covered 
 with mountain herbage, that crowned the brow of a precipice. 
 From an opening between the trees, he could overlook all the 
 lower country for many a mile of rich woodland. He saw at 
 a distance the lordly Hudson, far, far below him, moving on 
 its silent but majestic course, with the reflection of a purple 
 cloud, or the sail of a lagging bark, here and there sleeping 
 on its glassy bosom, and at last losing itself in the blue 
 his^hlands. 
 
 On the other side he looked down into a deep mountain 
 glen, wild, lonely, and shagged, the bottom filled with frag- 
 ments from the impending cliffs, and scarcely lighted by the 
 reflected rays of the setting sun. For some time Rip lay 
 musing on this scene ; evening was gradually advancing ; the 
 mountains began to throw their long blue shadows over the 
 valleys; he saw that it would be dark long before he could 
 reach the village ; and he heaved a heavy sigh when he thought 
 of encountering the terrors of Dame Van Winkle. 
 
 As he was about to descend he heard a voice from a dis- 
 tance hallooing, " Rip Van Winkle ! Rip Van Winkle ! " He 
 looked around, but could see nothing but a crow winging its 
 solitary flight across the mountain. He thought his fancy 
 
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RIP VAN WINKLE. 25 
 
 must have deceived him, and turned again to descend, when he 
 heard the same cry ring through the still evening air, " Rip 
 Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!" — at the same time Wolf 
 bristled up his back, and giving a low growl, skulked to his 
 master's side, looking fearfully down into the glen. Rip now 
 felt a vague apprehension stealing over him ; he looked anx- 
 iously in the same direction, and perceived a strange figure 
 slowly toiling up the rocks, and bending under the weight of 
 something he carried on his back. He was surprised to see 
 any human being in this lonely and unfrequented place, but 
 supposing it to be some one of the neighborhood in need of 
 his assistance, he hastened down to yield it. 
 
 On nearer approach, he was still more surprised at the 
 singularity of the stranger's appearance. He was a short, 
 square-built old fellow, with thick bushy hair, and a grizzled 
 beard. His dress was of the antique Dutch fashion — a cloth 
 jerkin strapped round the waist — several pair of breeches, the 
 outer one of ample volume, decorated with rows of buttons 
 down the sides, and bunches at the knees. He bore on his 
 shoulders a stout keg, that seemed full of liquor, and made 
 signs for Rip to approach and assist him with the load. Though 
 rather shy and distrustful of this new acquaintance. Rip com- 
 plied with his usual alacrity, and mutually relieving each other, 
 they clambered up a narrow gully, apparently the dry bed of 
 a mountain torrent. As they ascended. Rip every now and 
 then heard long rolling peals, like distant thunder, that seemed 
 to issue out of a deep ravine, or rather cleft between lofty 
 rocks, toward which their rugged path conducted. He paused 
 for an instant, but supposing it to be the muttering of one of 
 those transient thunder-showers which often take place in the 
 
26 
 
 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 mountain heights, he proceeded. Passing through the ravine, 
 they came to a hollow, like a small amphitheatre, surrounded 
 by perpendicular precipices, over the brinks of which, im- 
 pending trees shot their branches, so that you only caught 
 glimpses of the azure sky and the bright evening cloud. 
 During the whole time. Rip and his companion had labored 
 on in silence; for though the former marvelled greatly what 
 
 f> could be the object of carry- 
 
 ing a keg of liquor up this 
 wild mountain, yet there was 
 something strange and in- 
 comprehensible about the un- 
 known, that inspired awe, and 
 checked familiarity. 
 
 On entering the amphi- 
 theatre, new objects of wonder 
 presented themselves. On a 
 level spot in the centre was 
 a company of odd-looking per- 
 sonages playing at nine-pins. 
 They were dressed in a quaint 
 outlandish fashion : some wore 
 short doublets, others jerkins, 
 with long knives in their belts, and most of them had enor- 
 mous breeches, of similar style with that of the guide's. 
 Their visages too, were peculiar : one had a large head, broad 
 face, and small piggish eyes ; the face of another seemed to 
 .consist entirely of nose, and was surmounted by a white sugar- 
 loaf hat, set off with a little red cock's tail. They all had 
 beards, of various shapes and colors. There was one whc? 
 
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RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 29 
 
 ^-^ 
 
 seemed to be the commander. He was a stout old eentle- 
 man, with a weather-beaten countenance ; he wore a laced 
 doublet, broad belt and hanger, high-crowned hat and feather, 
 red stockings, and high-heeled shoes, with roses in them. 
 The whole group reminded Rip of the figures in an old 
 Flemish painting, in the parlor of Domine Van Schaick, the 
 village parson, and which 
 had been brought over from 
 Holland at the time of the 
 settlement. 
 
 What seemed particu- 
 larly odd to Rip was, that 
 though these folks were 
 evidently amusing them- 
 selves, yet they maintained 
 the gravest faces, the most 
 mysterious silence, and 
 were, withal, the most mel- 
 ancholy party of pleasure 
 he had ever witnessed. 
 Nothing interrupted the stillness 
 of the scene but the noise of the 
 balls, which, whenever they were 
 rolled, echoed along the mountains 
 like rumbling peals of thunder. 
 
 As Rip and his companion approached them, they suddenly 
 desisted from their play, and stared at him with such a fixed 
 statue-like gaze, and such strange, uncouth, lack-lustre counte- 
 nances, that his heart turned within him, and his knees smote 
 together. His companion now emptied the contents of the 
 
30 
 
 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 keg into large flagons, and made signs to him to wait upon 
 the company. He obeyed with fear and trembling; they 
 quaffed the liquor in profound silence, and then returned to 
 their game. 
 
 By degrees, Rip's awe and apprehension subsided. He 
 even ventured, when no eye was fixed upon him, to taste the 
 beverase, which he found had much of the flavor of excellent 
 
 Hollands. He was naturally a thirsty soul, and was soon 
 tempted to repeat the draught. One taste provoked another, 
 and he reiterated his visits to the flagon so often, that at length 
 his senses were overpowered, his eyes swam in his head, his 
 head gradually declined, and he fell into a deep sleep. 
 
 On waking, he found himself on the green knoll from 
 whence he had first seen the old man of the glen. He lubbed 
 
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RIP VAN WINKLE. 31 
 
 hig eyes — it was a bright sunny morning. The birds were 
 hopping and twittering among the bushes, and the eagle 
 was wheeHng aloft, and breasting the pure mountain breeze. 
 " Surely," thought Rip, " I have not slept here all night." He 
 recalled the occurrences before he fell asleep. The strange 
 man with the keg of liquor — the mountain ravine — the wild 
 retreat among the rocks — the woe-begone party at nine-pins — 
 the flao-on — " Oh ! that wicked flagon ! " thought Rip — "what 
 excuse shall I make to Dame Van Winkle } " 
 
 He looked round for his gun, but in place of- the clean well- 
 oiled fowling-piece, he found an old firelock lying by him, the 
 barrel encrusted with rust, the lock falling off, and the stock 
 worm-eaten. He now suspected that the grave roysters of the 
 mountain had put a trick upon him, and having dosed him 
 with liquor, had robbed him of his gun. Wolf, too, had dis- 
 appeared, but he might have strayed away after a squirrel or 
 partridge. He whistled after him and shouted his name, but 
 
32 
 
 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 all in vain ; the echoes repeated his whistle and shout, but 
 no dog was to be seen. 
 
 He determined to revisit the scene of the last evening-'s 
 gambol, and if he met with any of the party, to demand his 
 dog and gun. As he rose to walk, he found himself stiff in 
 the joints, and wanting in his usual activity. " These moun- 
 tain beds do not agree with me," thought Rip, " and if this 
 
 frolic should lay me up with a fit 
 of the rheumatism, I shall have 
 a blessed time with Dame Van 
 Winkle." With some difficulty 
 he got down into the glen ; he 
 found the gully up which he and 
 his companion had ascended the 
 preceding evening ; but to his 
 astonishment a mountain stream 
 was now foaming down it, leaping 
 from rock to rock, and filling the 
 glen with babbling murmurs. He, 
 however, made shift to scramble 
 up its sides, working his toilsome 
 way through thickets of birch, 
 and sometimes tripped up or en- 
 tangled by the wild grape vines that twisted their coils and 
 tendrils from tree to tree, and spread a kind of network in 
 his path. 
 
 At length he reached to where the ravine had opened 
 through the cliffs to the amphitheatre ; but no traces of such 
 opening remained. The rocks presented a high impenetrable 
 wall, over which the torrent came tumbling in a sheet of feath- 
 
 sassafras, and witch-hazel 
 
"'¥he rocks presented a^ high impenetrable wall. 
 
^ELL INT0A3R0ADDEEPBA5IN,B1ACKFR0MTHE SHADOW 
 OF THE SURRO UNDING FOREST," 
 
 M 
 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 33 
 
 ery foam, and fell into a broad deep basin, black from the 
 shadows of the surrounding forest. Here, then, poor Rip was 
 brought to a stand. He again called and whistled after his 
 dog; he was only answered by the cawing of a flock of idle 
 crows, sporting high in the air about a dry tree that overhung 
 a sunny precipice ; and who, secure in their elevation, seemed 
 to look down and scoff at the poor man's perplexities. What 
 was to be done ? The morning was passing away, and Rip felt 
 
 famished for want of his breakfast. He grieved to give up his 
 dog and gun ; he dreaded to meet his wife ; but it would not 
 do to starve among^ the mountains. He shook his head, shoul- 
 dered the rusty firelock, and, with a heart full of trouble and 
 anxiety, turned his steps homeward. 
 
 As he approached the village, he met a number of people, 
 but none whom he knew, which somewhat surprised him, for 
 he had thought himself acquainted with every one in the 
 country round. Their dress, too, was of a different fashion 
 from that to which he was accustomed. They all stared at 
 him with equal marks of surprise, and whenever they cast eyes 
 upon him, invariably stroked their chins. The constant recur- 
 
34 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 rence of this gesture induced Rip, involuntarily, to do the 
 same, when, to his astonishment, he found his beard had 
 grown a foot long ! 
 
 He had now entered the skirts of the village. A troop of 
 strange children ran at his heels, hooting after him, and point- 
 ing at his gray beard. The dogs, too, not one of which he 
 recognized for an old acquaintance, barked at him as he passed. 
 The very village was altered : it was larger and more populous. 
 There were rows of houses which he had never seen before, 
 and those which had been his familiar haunts had disappeared. 
 Strange names were over the doors — strange faces at the win- 
 dows — everything was strange. His mind now misgave him; 
 he began to doubt whether both he and the world around 
 him were not bewitched. Surely this was his native village, 
 which he had left but a day before. There stood the Kaats- 
 kill mountains — there ran the silver Hudson at a distance 
 — there was every hill and dale precisely as it had always 
 been — Rip was sorely perplexed — "That flagon last night," 
 thought he, "has addled my poor head sadly!" 
 
 It was with some difficulty that he found the way to his 
 own house, which he approached with silent awe, expecting 
 every moment to hear the shrill voice of Dame Van Winkle. 
 He found the house gone to decay — the roof fallen in, the 
 windows shattered, and the doors off the hinges. A half- 
 starved dog, that looked like Wolf, was skulking about it. 
 Rip called him by name, but the cur snarled, showed his teeth, 
 and passed on. This was an unkind cut indeed. — " My very 
 dog," sighed poor Rip, " has forgotten me ! " 
 
 He entered the house, which, to tell the truth. Dame Van 
 Winkle had always kept in neat order. It was empty, forlorn. 
 
n 
 
 $ 
 
 □ 
 
 en 
 
 tn 
 (J] 
 
 p 
 
5r 
 
 
H 
 
 ai 
 X 
 
 P 
 H 
 
 G 
 
 <r 
 
 D 
 P. 
 
 <r 
 
 m 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 37 
 
 and apparently abandoned. This desolateness overcame all his 
 connubial fears — he called loudly for his wife and children — 
 the lonely chambers rang for a moment with his voice, and 
 then all again was silence. 
 
 He now hurried forth, and hastened to his old resort, the 
 village inn — but it too was gone. A large rickety wooden 
 
 building stood in its place, with great gaping windows, some 
 of them broken, and mended with old hats and petticoats, and 
 over the door was painted, " The Union Hotel, by Jonathan 
 Doolittle." Instead of the great tree that used to shelter the 
 quiet little Dutch inn of yore, there now was reared a tall 
 naked pole, with something on the top that looked like a red 
 
38 P-IP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 night-cap, and from it was fluttering a flag, on which was a 
 singular assemblage of stars and stripes — all this was strange 
 and incomprehensible. He recognized on the sign, however, 
 the ruby face of King George, under which he had smoked 
 so many a peaceful pipe, but even this was singularly meta- 
 morphosed. The red coat was changed for one of blue and 
 buff, a sword was held in the hand instead of a sceptre, the 
 head was decorated with a cocked hat, and underneath was 
 painted in large characters, General Washington. 
 
 There was, as usual, a crowd of folk about the door, but 
 none that Rip recollected. The very character of the people 
 seemed changed. There was a busy, bustling, disputatious 
 tone about it, intead of the accustomed phlegm and drowsy 
 tranquillity. He looked in vain for the sage Nicholas Vedder, 
 with his broad face, double chin, and fair long pipe, uttering 
 clouds of tobacco smoke, instead of idle speeches ; or Van 
 Bummel, the schoolmaster, doling forth the contents of an 
 ancient newspaper. In place of these, a lean bilious-looking 
 fellow, with his pockets full of handbills, was haranguing 
 vehemently about rights of citizens — election — members of 
 Congress — liberty — Bunker's hill — heroes of seventy-six — 
 and other words, that were a perfect Babylonish jargon to the 
 bewildered Van Winkle. 
 
 The appearance of Rip, with his long, grizzled beard, his 
 rusty fowling-piece, his uncouth dress, and the army of women 
 and children that had gathered at his heels, soon attracted the 
 attention of the tavern politicians. They crowded round him, 
 eyeing him from head to foot, with great curiosity. The 
 orator bustled up to him, and drawing him partly aside, in- 
 quired, " on which side he voted ? " Rip stared in vacant 
 
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 E- 
 
 n 
 a 
 
 I — I 
 
 p 
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 H 
 
 
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 H 
 
 Eh 
 
 fn 
 D 
 
 CO 
 
 K 
 
 1—1 
 
 i< 
 CO 
 
 u 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 41 
 
 stupidity. Another short but busy Httle fellow pulled him by 
 the arm, and rising on tiptoe, inquired in his ear, " whether 
 he was Federal or Democrat." Rip was equally at a loss to 
 comprehend the question ; when a knowing, self-important old 
 gentleman, in a sharp cocked hat, made his way through the 
 crowd, putting them to the right and left with his elbows 
 as he passed, and planting himself 
 before Van Winkle, with one arm 
 a-kimbo, the other rest- 
 ing on his cane, his 
 keen eyes and sharp 
 hat penetrating, as it 
 were, into his very soul, 
 demanded in an austere 
 tone, "what brought him 
 to the election with a 
 gun on his shoulder, 
 and a mob at his heels, 
 and whether he meant 
 to breed a riot in the village ? " 
 
 "Alas! gentlemen," cried Rip, somewhat dismayed, "I am 
 a poor, quiet man, a native of the place, and a loyal subject 
 of the King, God bless him ! " 
 
 Here a general shout burst from the bystanders — "a tory ! 
 a tory ! a spy ! a refugee ! hustle him ! away with him ! " 
 
 It was with great difficulty that the self-important man in 
 the cocked hat restored order; and having assumed a tenfold 
 austerity of brow, demanded again of the unknown culprit, 
 what he came there for, and whom he was seeking. The 
 poor man humbly assured him that he meant no harm, but 
 
42 
 
 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 merely came there in search of some of his neighbors, who 
 used to keep about the tavern. 
 
 " Well — who are they ? — name them." 
 Rip bethought himself a moment, and inquired, " Where's 
 Nicholas Vedder ? " 
 
 There was a silence for a little while, when an old man 
 replied, in a thin, piping voice, " Nicholas Vedder } why, he 
 
 is dead and gone these 
 eighteen years ! There 
 was a wooden tomb-stone 
 in the church-yard that 
 used to tell all about him, 
 but that's rotten and gone 
 too." 
 
 "Where's Brom Dutch- 
 er .? " 
 
 " Oh, he went off to the 
 army in the beginning of 
 the war ; some say he was 
 killed at the storming of 
 Stony-Point — others say 
 he was drowned in the 
 squall, at the foot of Antony's Nose. I don't know — he 
 never came back again." 
 
 "Where's Van Bummel, the schoolmaster?" 
 " He went off to the wars, too ; was a great militia general, 
 and is now in Congress." 
 
 Rip's heart died away, at hearing of these sad changes in 
 his home and friends, and finding himself thus alone in the 
 world. Every answer puzzled him, too, by treating of such 
 
2 
 
 in 
 
 h 
 
 << 
 n 
 
 n 
 
 > 
 
 I 
 
 I©* 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 43 
 
 "Oh, 
 
 enormous lapses of time, and of matters which he could not 
 understand: war — Congress — Stony-Point! — he had no cour- 
 (age to ask after any more friends, but cried out in despair, 
 " Does nobody here know Rip Van Winkle ? " 
 
 " Oh, Rip Van Winkle ! " exclaimed two or three, 
 to be sure ! that's Rip Van Winkle 
 yonder, leaning against the tree." 
 
 Rip looked, and beheld a pre- 
 cise counterpart of himself as he 
 went up the mountain ; apparently 
 as lazy, and certainly as ragged. 
 The poor fellow was now com- 
 pletely confounded. He doubted 
 his own identity, and whether he 
 was himself or another man. In 
 the midst of his bewilderment, the 
 man in the cocked hat demanded 
 who he was, and what was his 
 name } 
 
 " God knows," exclaimed he at 
 his wit's end; "I'm not myself — 
 I'm somebody else — that's me yon- 
 der — no — that's somebody else, 
 got into my shoes — I was myself 
 last night, but I fell asleep on the 
 
 mountain, and they've changed my gun, and everything's 
 changed, and I'm changed, and I can't tell what's my name, 
 or who I am ! " 
 
 The by-standers began now to look at each other, nod, 
 wink significantly, and tap their fingers against their fore- 
 
44 
 
 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 heads. There was a whisper, also, about securing the gun, 
 and keeping the old fellow from doing mischief; at the very 
 suggestion of which, the self-important man with the cocked 
 hat retired with some precipitation. At this critical moment 
 a fresh comely woman passed through the throng to get a 
 
 peep at the gray-bearded man. 
 She had a chubby child in her 
 arms, which, frightened at his 
 looks, began to cry. " Hush, 
 Rip," cried she, "hush, you little 
 fool ; the old man won't hurt 
 you." The name of the child, 
 the air of the mother, the tone 
 of her voice, all awakened a 
 train of recollections in his 
 mind. 
 
 " What is your name, my 
 good woman } " asked he. 
 " Judith Gardenier." 
 " And your father's name .? " 
 " Ah, poor man, his name 
 was Rip Van Winkle ; it's twenty 
 years since he went away from 
 home with his gun, and never has been heard of since — his 
 dog came home without him ; but whether he shot himself, 
 or was carried away by the Indians, nobody can tell. I was 
 then but a little girl." 
 
 Rip had but one question more to ask ; but he put it 
 with a faltering voice : 
 
 " Where's your mother ? " 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 45 
 
 Oh, she too had died but a short time since : she broke a 
 blood-vessel in a fit of passion at a New-England pedler. 
 
 There was a drop of comfort, at least, in this intelligence. 
 The honest man could contain himself no longer. He caught 
 his daughter and her child in his arms. " I am your father ! " 
 cried he — "Young Rip Van Winkle once — old Rip Van 
 Winkle now — Does nobody know poor Rip Van Winkle!" 
 
 All stood amazed, until an old 
 woman, tottering out from among 
 the crowd, put her hand to her 
 brow, and peering under it in his 
 face for a moment, exclaimed, 
 " Sure enough ! it is Rip Van 
 Winkle — it is himself. Welcome 
 home again, old neighbor — Why, 
 where have you been these twenty 
 long years } " 
 
 Rip's story was soon told, for 
 the whole twenty years had been 
 to him but as one night. The 
 neighbors stared when they heard 
 it ; some were seen to wink at each 
 other, and put their tongues in their cheeks ; and the self- 
 important man in the cocked hat, who, when the alarm was 
 over, had returned to the field, screwed down the corners of 
 his mouth, and shook his head — upon which there was a gen- 
 eral shaking of the head throughout the assemblage. 
 
 It was determined, however, to take the opinion of old 
 Peter Vanderdonk, who was seen slowly advancing up the 
 road. He was a descendant of the historian of that name, who 
 
46 
 
 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 wrote one of the earliest accounts of the province. Peter was 
 the most ancient inhabitant of the village, and well versed in 
 all the wonderful events and traditions of the neighborhood. 
 He recollected Rip at once, and corroborated his story in the 
 most satisfactory manner. He assured the company that it 
 was a fact, handed down from his ancestor the historian, that 
 the Kaatskill mountains had always been haunted by strange 
 
 beings. That it was affirmed that the great Hendrick Hud- 
 son, the first discoverer of the river and country, kept a kind 
 of vigil there every twenty years, with his crew of the Half- 
 moon, being permitted in this way to revisit the scenes of his 
 enterprise, and keep a guardian eye upon the river and the 
 great city called by his name. That his father had once seen 
 them in their old Dutch dresses playing at nine-pins in the 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 47 
 
 hollow of the mountain ; and that he himself had heard, one 
 summer afternoon, the sound of their balls, like distant peals 
 of thunder. 
 
 To make a long story short, the company broke up, and 
 returned to the more important concerns of the election. 
 Rip's daughter took him home to live with her; she had a 
 snug, well-furnished house, and a stout cheery farmer for a 
 husband, whom Rip recollected for one of the urchins that 
 used to climb upon his back. As to Rip's son and heir, who 
 was the ditto of himself, seen leaning against the tree, he was 
 employed to work on the farm ; but evinced a hereditary dis- 
 position to attend to anything else but his business. 
 
 Rip now resumed his old walks and habits ; he soon found 
 many of his former cronies, though all rather the worse for 
 the wear and tear of time; and preferred making friends 
 among the rising generation, with whom he soon grew into 
 great favor. 
 
 Having nothing to do at home, and being arrived at that 
 happy age when a man can do nothing with impunity, he 
 took his place once more on the bench, at the inn door, and 
 was reverenced as one of the patriarchs of the village, and a 
 chronicle of the old times " before the war." It was some 
 time before he could get into the regular track of gossip, or 
 could be made to comprehend the strange events that had 
 taken place during his torpor. How that there had been 
 a revolutionary war — that the country had thrown off the 
 yoke of old England — and that, instead of being a subject of 
 his majesty George the Third, he was now a free citizen of 
 the United States. Rip, in fact, was no politician ; the 
 changes of states and empires made but little impression on 
 
48 
 
 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 him ; but there was one species of despotism under which 
 he had long groaned, and that was — petticoat government. 
 Happily, that was at an end ; he had got his neck out of 
 the yoke of matrimony, and could go in and out whenever 
 he pleased, without dreading the tyranny of Dame Van Winkle. 
 Whenever her name was mentioned, however, he shook his 
 head, shrugged his shoulders, and cast up his eyes ; which 
 
 might pass either for an expression of resignation to his fate, 
 or joy at his deliverance. 
 
 He used to tell his story to every stranger that arrived at 
 Mr. Doolittle's hotel. He was observed, at first, to vary on 
 some points every time he told it, which was doubtless owing 
 to his having so recently awaked. It at last settled down pre- 
 cisely to the tale I have related, and not a man, woman, or 
 child in the neighborhood, but knew it by heart. Some 
 
Filling the glen with babbling murmurs, 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE. 49 
 
 always pretended to doubt the reality of it, and insisted that 
 Rip had been out of his head, and that this was one point on 
 which he always remained flighty. The old Dutch inhabi- 
 tants, however, almost universally gave it full credit. Even 
 to this day, they never hear a thunder-storm of a summer after- 
 noon about the Kaatskill, but they say Hendrick Hudson and 
 his crew are at their game of nine-pins ; and it is a common 
 wish of all henpecked husbands in the neighborhood, when 
 life hangs heavy on their hands, that they might have a quiet- 
 ing draught out of Rip Van Winkle's flagon. 
 
 Note. — The foregoing tale, one would suspect, had been suggested to Mr. 
 Knickerbocker by a little German superstition about the Emperor Frederick der 
 Rothbart and the Kypphauser mountain ; the subjoined note, however, which he 
 had appended to the tale, shows that it is an absolute fact, narrated with his 
 usual fidelity. 
 
 " The story of Rip Van Winkle may seem incredible to many, but never- 
 theless I give it my full belief, for I know the vicinity of our old Dutch settle- 
 ments to have been very subject to marvellous events and appearances. Indeed, 
 I have heard many stranger stories than this, in the villages along the Hudson ; 
 all of which were too well authenticated to admit of a doubt. I have even talked 
 with Rip Van Winkle myself, who, when last I saw him, was a very venerable old 
 man, and so perfectly rational and consistent on every other point, that I think 
 no conscientious person could refuse to take this into the bargain ; nay, I have 
 seen a certificate on the subject taken before a country justice, and signed with a 
 cross, in the justice's own handwriting. The story, therefore, is beyond the pos- 
 sibility of doubt."